


Astray

by LozaMoza



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Miscommunication, Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining, Mystery, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LozaMoza/pseuds/LozaMoza
Summary: 6 dead bodiesAll childrenAll mutilated beyond imaginationYennefer is commissioned by King Demavend to find out why children of Vengerberg are showing up dead in the most gruesome of ways, and much to her chagrin, she is struggling to discover an answer. Hounded by his citizens, Demavend seeks outside professional help of the witchering variety, and it's someone Yennefer certainly had no intention of seeing, ever again. Not since her left her in the soft light of a spring dawn 3 years prior.An angsty murder mystery with our favorite duo (both trying desperately to convince themselves they never mattered to the other) set after the Voice of Reason in The Last Wish book of the Witcher Saga.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 61
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR love to my friend and writing compatriot Dire-Sin, who helped me turn the silliest of ideas in my head into something compelling and exciting. You're amazing, girl. 
> 
> Make sure to check out all her works!

The heels of her basilisks slippers clicked rhythmically along the muted gray stone floors, the sound reverberating off the walls around her. She was alone in this hallway - not that she minded - and she used the metered clacking of her shoes to take her mind off her reason for visiting the king. 

Bodies. More of them.

All children. 

All mutilated in some way.

And _ no  _ answers.

Demavend would want a report of progress and good news Yennefer was unable to offer. Vengerberg’s population was in arms over the murders. Over the past month, 6 bodies had been found, yet she was no closer to an answer than she was on the day they found the first. From the limited correspondence she’d received from the king, he was not only growing more frustrated by the day, but his faith in her abilities, and by extension the Brotherhood as a whole, was diminishing, rapidly. 

Hen Gedymdeith - that egg-headed bastard - had implied as much the night before, which marked the third week of investigation that had led to nothing. Remembering the conversation now, her lips curled in an ugly grimace.

_ “Yennefer, why do you have no answers?” Hen’s image, slightly wavy with the magical projection of the megascope, was hunched over a scroll. Not even deigning to look up at her as he spoke, he continued on. “You’ve had three week’s time to investigate. I hardly think it should take more than a couple of days to solve the murder of a few human children of little note. Explain yourself.” _

_ She steeled her nerves. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Grandmaster.” _

_ “Doubtful. Perhaps the investigator is just a bit less skilled than originally supposed.” _

_ She ignored the biting remark and continued. “There’s been three more bodies. None of the mutilations match, and the only thing tying them together is the general age and sex of the corpse…” _

_ Hen put down the quill and stood, his hale figure beguiling the reality of his 300 years. Slowly, he looked up at her. “Yennefer, I’m not interested in rehearsed excuses. Let me remind you, once again, the stability of Aedirn and the good graces of Demavend take precedence over all. Over ALL, Yennefer, so deal with this travality immediately or you will be dismissed in favor of someone who can.” He went back to his seat. “I trust I’ve made my position clear.” _

_ With that, the projection ended.  _

She knew exactly how precarious her position was, and she knew how opposite the Brotherhood’s priorities were to hers.

_ The child, ten at most, it’s feet and hands somehow webbed into utter monstorities… _

“Ahem?” A voice jerked her out of her revelries.

“I’m here to see King Demavend.” She straightened, forcing the image of the mutilated child out of her mind. 

The guard, an impossibly skinny man in his early 20s at most, scanned her body up and down, lingering on her breasts. He must have been new to the castle, probably a son of some noble desperate to ingratiate himself to Demavend. “And you are?” he said, an ugly pink tongue darting out to lick his chapped and peeling lips.

She narrowed her eyes at his pockmarked face. “Yennefer of Vengerberg. Sorceress.” The guard immediately averted his eyes, looking at the ceiling, at the floor, anywhere but her and her body. “Yes, yes, the king mentioned you would be arriving. Please come in, and I apologize…”

Yennefer ignored the rest of his statement as she walked past and into Demavend’s Great Hall.

*******

If there was one thing Yennefer had to hand to Demavend, the king could leave an impression. The Great Hall of Vengerberg was designed to do just that. It was flooded in light. Yennefer never bothered to count the sheer number of tapers the hall had in every candelabra, chandelier, or sconce, but she knew the amount to be massive. There were also 4 expansive hearths, the insides of them plated with obsidian glass to reflect the flames within. The floor was the same gray stone in the hallway, but polished to a shine that allowed the light from the many candles to bounce off of it. Yennefer wouldn’t call it ethereal or inspiring by any means. 

No, this hall served to reflect power and wealth, and consequently intimidation, and in that it succeeded: fantastically so.

King Demavend sat at the head, his throne carved of the rare elder wood that grew deep in Aedirn’s mountain forests. Precious gems lined the arms and back, and the seat was a plush cushion of golden velvet. The throne alone easily cost the price of a duchy, and Demavend adored it. 

“Yennefer,” the king stated as she came into his view. 

“Greetings, King Demavend,” she replied, nodding her head in deference. “I hope this day finds you in good health and spirits.”

His lips curled in frustration. “I’d be in far better spirits if children were not showing up dead and mutilated in my city, Yennefer.”

_ At least on that we can agree. _

“Explain to me how it’s been a month, and we have six dead children, not just dead but defiled in some hideous way, and we have zero answers.”

“Other than the general age and sex of the bodies, we have no similarities between them,” she sighed. She had poured over the evidence, trying desperately to find a missing clue, but she could come up with nothing that even tied these killings to each other besides these two factors. She had no doubt they were connected, but how? Why?

“Are you somehow implying this is a common occurrence for Vengerberg? That children show up dead in the streets with missing limbs, with growths on their bodies,  _ with gills and webbed feet _ for the gods sake, and that this isn’t connected?!” He was yelling now.

She took a deep breath, forcing her dual swords of shame and anger at her lack of progress aside. “Of course I believe they are connected, your Highness,” she replied in a falsely-even tone. “As I stated before, however, that is the only thing that connects them. They are found all throughout the city, not in one area. No family has reported missing children, so one can also assume these were orphans. I cannot confirm this suspicion, however, as Vengerberg lacks an established orphanage.”

The king glared at her for a long while. Somewhere in the hall, a person coughed, and the sound seemed deafening. Finally, he spoke. “Street urchins or not, I’ve asked you to find who or what is behind these killings, and you have been unable to do so. The Brotherhood is perhaps not as capable at assisting in the solving of this case as I had originally hoped.”

“I can assure you the Brotherhood…”

“Your assurances are not enough. As it stands, I have called outside help.  _ Professional  _ outside help.”

It was Yennefer’s turn to stare. A sense of dread, thick and painful, began to claw out from the pit of her belly.  _ No, please no…  _ “Who?” she said, and to her fury, her voice cracked.

Demavend chuckled. “Geralt of Rivia. The famous White Wolf. The Butcher of Blaviken, and whatever other silly nicknames he’s garnered as of late. Foltest speaks more than highly of him. Do you know he saved that monstrosity of a daughter that was eating his citizens?” He smiled at her, but Yennefer saw no joy in it. “If memory serves, I believe you yourself made his acquaintance before, long ago? At any rate, he should be arriving within a day. I’m sure you’ll look forward to rekindling a professional relationship.”

_ Fuck. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are both in Vengerberg now, both busy convincing themselves they never mattered to the other at all. Of course they are, these angsty kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gems are in reference to Geralt trading the entirety of his Temerian Striga reward into gems to give to Yennefer and the temple at Ellander. He wanted to give it to Yennefer to help with her quest to become a mother. Yennefer never learns of this in canon.

**Yennefer**

“Geralt,” she whispered, still standing in front of Demavend, though for that instant she forgot he was there. Her lips quivered momentarily.

“Yes. Geralt of Rivia. I highly doubted you’d forget him, though I do believe it’s been quite a long time since I have seen him on your arm at court.”

Her eyes flashed at the king, anger beginning to scratch at her throat. “Why didn’t you mention you were looking for outside assistance? The Brotherhood certainly could have provided suitable candidates that would…”

“That is precisely why I didn’t mention I was looking for outside assistance, Yennefer. I wasn’t interested in the Brotherhood’s opinions on the matter. Besides, Geralt of Rivia is more than qualified. He worked nothing short of a miracle with Foltest’s daughter.”

Of course Yennefer had heard about the cursed striga, the daughter of the incestual affair of King Foltest and his sister, and the witcher with the white hair who saved her. She heard about the violent slash he received across his jugular. He’d gone to Ellander to heal. To Nenneke. She discovered this, too, in her frantic search to ensure his injury had been mended. “I have not followed the whereabouts of Geralt of Rivia in many years,” she lied. “And I know even less about his current exploits.”

“I’m sure he’d be able to fill you in on anything of import. Needless to say, his methods produce results.”

“Your Highness, if I may, while Geralt is certainly a skilled witcher, I am not certain the crimes fit any category of monster or creature witchers study. As I mentioned, the victims only similarities are general age and sex. Nothing else matches. This certainly isn’t the work of drowners or vampires…”

“I appreciate your advice, Yennefer, but the issue has been dealt with. The witcher will be arriving shortly, within a day or two at most as I sent the correspondence out two weeks back, and fortunately he was nearby.” 

Geralt was nearby. He was close to her, and she never would have known had it not been for Demavend.

How he must  _ despise _ her to stay away, to avoid her completely, even when he was close at hand. 

The image came flooding back to her, unwanted and unwelcome: the note, folded neatly next to a posy of violets. She remembered how beautiful the sun looked that morning; how the dust motes that floated lazily in the air reflected the light of the morning rays like tiny stars. The violets had been the most perfect shade of purple. She had smiled widely, in genuine joy, when she first saw them.

She hated flowers now.

But Demavend didn’t know this, and he never would. No one would know the true depths of her sorrow. She couldn’t hide the humiliation of his leaving, but she certainly could hide that. She steeled herself against the torrent of pain and betrayal raging inside of her. “Of course, your Highness,” she responded with a false smile. “I will make sure to provide him with anything he needs.”

“I expected you might, Yennefer. I’m sure he will be pleased to find you here as well.”

Her stomach gave a lurch. “Does he not know I’m involved in the case?”

Demavend laughed. “You’re a private woman, Yennefer, and I respect that, but your relationship with the witcher, and it’s dissolution, are, to put it quite mildly, common knowledge. So, I felt it best to my goals to avoid your name entirely when asking him to come. I didn’t want to risk him turning down the contract over some petty romance long-since forgotten.”

_ Petty romance?! _ Fury exploded in her chest like rolling thunder. She felt her fingertips crackle as her magic spilled out of them in barely-controlled waves. 

“We’re done here. Make sure the witcher is debriefed on anything pertinent when he arrives.” With that, he dismissed her.

**Geralt**

He was glad the ride to Vengerberg was short. Normally, he did his best to steer as far away from the city as possible. He’d add days of travel to avoid the capital, and he never willingly set foot within its walls. 

He couldn’t risk seeing her, seeing what he left behind. It would hurt too fucking much. 

He had been outside of Aldersburg when a strange courier had met with him, however, and the proposition from King Demavend was too lucrative to pass up. He’d traded the payment of the Temerian striga into precious gems, and while Nenneke had refused to hold onto the gems he had asked her to give Yennefer, he’d still managed to convince her to take the donations to the temple. “Payment for a torn neck,” Nenneke had called it. She’d been correct.

The other gems, the ones meant for Yennefer, he couldn’t bring himself to trade away. He couldn’t bring himself to sell them either. So they sat there, in a small leather pouch, tucked safely into one of the pockets of his chest armor. At times, he would take them out, caressing the smooth surface, and wishing he’d thought to buy an amethyst as well, if only to have something the color of her eyes.

As he handed his horse to the stable boy and walked up to the Royal Castle of Vengerberg, memories flooded his mind.

_ “Yen, I hate these things. You know that.” _

_ “Witcher, it’s just a Yuletide ball, nothing more. Just an excuse to dine, dance, and if one is lucky enough, sneak away into a secluded alcove with a lover.” _

_ He stared at her, the white of winter gown catching the moonlight outside the castle entrance. The night was cold, and tiny frozen water crystals floated in the air like suspended diamonds, landing softly in her hair.  _

_ He had never seen anything so beautiful.  _

_ He pulled her to him, nuzzling softly into the soft down of her cheek to whisper in her ear. “ And tell me, how does my luck seem tonight?” _

_ She laughed as he peppered her neck with the lightest of kisses. “I’d say you’re blessed, Witcher, but even more so when we get inside.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him gently up the steps of the Royal Castle. “Come on, silly,” she said with a smile, and he followed her up the stairs and into the Great Hall.  _

He could almost smell her perfume, that intoxicating blend of lilac and gooseberries. He could almost see her gown disturbing the recently fallen snow as she pulled him into the welcoming light of that party. He remembered that alcove, the feel of her body against his, the sounds of her pleasure she tried in vain to stifle as his tongue made her body quake beneath it’s skilled ministrations. 

Her taste.

Now, all that stood before him were those same steps in that same dull grey stone, with only the ghosts of memories to greet him. 

*******

“Geralt of Rivia,” King Demavend said as he looked over the witcher. 

“Greetings, your Highness,” he responded, noting the excess waste of candles burning throughout the room. _ How much did that cost the people of Aedirn? _

“It’s been some years since you’ve been in Vengerberg, I believe. One would think you’ve been avoiding my city, Geralt.”

“Quite the contrary. Circumstances have kept me away for far too long, much to my regret,” he lied to him. Of course he had avoided the place. 

Demavend stared at him for a moment before speaking, his face inscrutable. “No matter, the past is of little import here. What I  _ am _ concerned about are these rash of murders taking over the city.” He spoke loudly, enough for everyone in the hall to hear him.  _ Obviously he wants his citizens to know he is concerned.  _ “Were you able to garner the basics from the missive I sent you?”

“Little and less,” Geralt responded truthfully. The letter had been purposefully vague. “From what I can tell, you have children of Vengerberg turning up dead. That’s all I could gather.”

“6 children have been murdered so far, their bodies in all states of mutilation. According to Yennefer, the only similarities here tying the victims is their general age and sex. Of course, the Brotherhood has been less than helpful on the case, though they’ve had a month.”

Geralt stopped listening after her name. “Yennefer is working on this as well?” he asked, his voice catching in his throat. His heart began to pound in his chest

“Ah yes, your previous affair. She is serving as a representative of the Brotherhood, and of course I’ve had a longstanding acquaintanceship with her. As to your past relationship , I can assure you the matter is settled for her and will be of no consequence. I’m sure you both will be able to maintain a professional relationship,” Demavend responded flatly.

_ Of no consequence.  _ Of course, who was he fooling that it would have been anything more to her? “Obviously,” Geralt replied, his voice strangely distant to his own hearing. 

“Excellent. Yennefer will fill you in on the rest.” He motioned for a guard to take him to her makeshift study within the castle. “And Geralt, I am offering a large number of marks to see this solved immediately. Make sure it is done.” 

Geralt didn’t reply, instead turning to follow the guard to Yennefer, feeling only the hollowness inside of him at the realization he had never truly mattered to her at all. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet...again, and oh the agony

**Geralt**

He followed the guard through the twisting passageways of the castle, focusing on each forward step he took. In truth, he’d rather face a griffin with nothing but a stick than see Yennefer at this moment. He wasn’t fucking prepared to face the demons of his past mistakes.

He wasn’t prepared to face her.

His feet followed the guard in mechanical, rhythmic steps. Right, left, right, left...left... _ why had he left her? He had to have had a reason, correct? _ She was too possessive, he reminded himself. She made him feel like a…

“It’s here,” the guard said, pointing to a heavy oak door deep in the interior of the castle. The two paused in front of the room. Geralt stared at the woodgrain in the door, focusing on the notches and gouges age had carved into it. In truth, he was trying to focus on anything _ but  _ walking inside. He let his hand graze across the worn surface, surprised at the subtle warmth. “Are you going to go inside?” the guard responded. “Because King Demavend said to make sure you speak with Lady Yennefer, and…,” but Geralt didn’t hear the rest as he pushed open the door and headed inside the room.

*******

The room was comfortable, filled with the luxury he had long-ago expected from Yennefer. The walls were covered in rich tapestries, and tiny magical instruments he didn’t recognize adorned the surfaces of the wood furniture. It was unashamedly cluttered, and the familiarity of it made him smile. She was always in too much of a hurry to organize. He saw a massive trunk, most likely of clothing given the impressive amount of discarded black and white outfits that lay on its top. He walked over to it, and though he knew he shouldn’t he ran his hand along her silver fox fur neck wrap she wore so often. He’d buried his face into that wrap countless times, and the impulse to pick it up and do so again was too much for even a witcher to ignore, and so he did.

The scent of her hit him like a battering ram, and it stripped away the pathetic veneer of indifference he had painted himself in these past years. It was more than her perfume, it was  _ her. _ It was her skin, her breath, her very essence. And he missed her. There was no denying it any longer. He closed his eyes and breathed in once more.

“You were closer than I realized,” a voice said, it’s cadence smooth and even like deep-flowing water, tinged with the slightest mocking lilt.  _ Yen. _ He opened his eyes and there she was, standing in front of him, and his heart lurched forward. 

She seemed almost ethereal in her beauty. 

Admittedly, he had dreamt of her more times than he cared to remember, but nothing compared to seeing her in front of him now. Had her eyebrows always had that gentle curve? Her hair, had it always had that deep-violet sheen entwined in every curl? Had her skin always held that pearlescent glow, her cheek tinged the slightest hint of rose? Her lips, he should know her fucking lips at least, but staring at them now, they seemed brand new to him. He wanted to run his thumb across their surface, have them open to his mouth so he could taste her once more. 

She looked at him quizzically.  _ Was she reading his mind again?  _ He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I was close by,” he stammered out, and he sat the wrap back done. She watched him do so, saying nothing. 

“Yes, I can see that,” she replied, and her voice went cold. “It makes one wonder how many times you’ve been close in these past few years and I would never know. I guess it doesn’t matter though, does it, Geralt? Why would such  _ petty _ things matter?”

He was taken back at the viciousness encapsulated in the way she said petty. “Yennefer, I don’t know what you’ve heard….”

“I’ve heard nothing, Geralt, nothing of note. But why should I?” Her eyes, he’d forgotten how angry her eyes could be. They held a raging storm within them.

“I was in Aldersburg when I received the missive from Demavend. I came as quickly as I could, as it was impressed upon me that time was of the essence in this matter.” She folded her arms around herself, narrow eyes narrowing even more at him. He felt farther away from her then he ever had. 

“It doesn’t matter, Geralt. The details are of no consequence.” She turned and walked from him, and he felt something bubble inside him, something he couldn’t keep in.

“I know they are of  _ no consequence,  _ Yennefer. After all, why would they be?” He practically hissed at her. 

She stopped. If not for his witcher senses, he would have missed it, the movement was so small, but there it was...her shoulders were shaking. After a long moment she turned to him. “I’m to give you the details of the case as far as we know.” With that she walked to the side room of her study. She made no request for him to follow, but he did so anyway. 

“Yennefer, I…” He stopped. _ What was there to say? What wasn’t there to say?  _

It was just too much. It was easier to say nothing at all.

She stared at him for a long time, like she was waiting for something. Geralt didn’t know what. Finally, she sighed, her face a visage of resignation. “I’m assuming you’ve been told the basics of the case from Demavend?”

He swallowed. “Just the very basics. 6 dead children in a month. All mutilated. No leads.”

“Mutilated is, shall I say, a kind way to describe the bodies and the state they have been found in. One child looked as if it’s lungs were replaced with half-gills and the hands and feet were webbed. Another had its limbs missing completely. One had its nose, ears, fingers, toes, and genitals removed without a scar, another was covered in violent slashes across the entire body. The last two were little more than masses of body parts.” Yennefer looked far-away before she sighed deeply. “They must have been ranging in age from 5 to 13. When sex was possible to confirm, the victims were male, but I cannot confirm they all were male.” She shuddered, and Geralt knew how hard this was for her. He knew what children meant to her. “There have been no reports of missing children, implying the victims were street urchins and beggars. Vengerberg has no functioning orphanage, so we cannot confirm this. And that, Geralt, is all we know.”

He wanted to take her into his arms and hold her. He wanted to shoulder some of the burden she was carrying, and let her bury her face in his chest, if only for a moment, so that she knew the weight of it wasn’t on her alone. 

But he had thrown all that away when he left her. 

“Where have the bodies been found,” he asked, pushing down his guilt. What good would it do him now?

“Throughout the city. All areas as well, from the wealthy blocks to the hovels. We...I..cannot find anything that connects them. The citizens are concerned, to say the very least, and petitioning the king to put an end to it. That’s why you’re here, Geralt: to end it.” She glared at him.

He winced. “Who else are you working with?”

“No one. Demavend and the Council wanted this handled as discreetly and immediately as possible. Obviously that hope has not come to fruition.” She looked him over. “So tell me, Geralt of Rivia, what kind of monster could this be?”

He groaned. “Yen, stop it.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath. “Don’t,” she whispered. 

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t you dare fucking say that name to me, Geralt.”

He said nothing.

“I’ll take you to the latest body,” she sighed heavily, and as she walked past him a memory flashed.

_ “Yen, that’s rather cruel,” he laughed, and she leaned her head back against his chest, sloshing the water of the bath. Tiny curls stuck to her neck as errant beads of water dripped from the wet tips of her hair that she had just piled on the top of her head with an ivory hairpin. He began licking them away, and she laughed and purred into him.  _

_ “Well, it was deserved. And he’s a rather strange little man, that bard. I don’t know what you can possibly see in him.” _

_ “He’s a good friend, Yen, and he brought me you, didn’t he?” _

_ She turned in his lap and tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear and smiled. “Say it again.” _

_ “What?” His hands began to caress her breasts. _

_ “My name, say it again.” _

_ “Yen,” he smiled lazily. _

_ “Geralt,” she responded, and leaned in to kiss him.  _

He wanted to project that memory to her. He wanted her to know that she was still that to him. His Yen. 

But she walked on, not looking his way, shoulders stiff and back straight, and he followed her to the bowels of the castle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry about the delayed chapter. So much going on with traveling and other fics that grew longer than expected (looking at you Ass Man!), but here it is! Thank you for staying with this. :)

**Author's Note:**

> This one is going to be a multiple chapter story, so I hope you stay along for the ride! Thank you!


End file.
